


Your Shadow Is A Lie

by vesper_house



Series: Before Dawn [7]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, DCU (Movies), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, I'm so sorry, M/M, omg it's a fuckload of plot crammed into one chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 02:57:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6452734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vesper_house/pseuds/vesper_house
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce Wayne is not a fool.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Shadow Is A Lie

**Author's Note:**

> This was painful to write. Now it's your time to suffer.

November 23rd

\---

Bruce is so pissed that he could bite off his entire arm.

He has been staring at the meticulously assembled footage of Superman for what feels like days. Long, agonizing days. Superman is beautiful. Regal, even. No matter how low quality some of the materials are, this cannot be denied. Bruce examines every photograph with a kind of obsession that makes his eyes look even darker. In contrast, Superman’s eyes have the color of the sky. And he knows, he _knows,_ although he cannot see it in the pictures nor the videos that there is a brown spot in Superman’s left iris.

Bruce realizes that he is in pain. He has been gritting his teeth so hard that it caused him a headache.

_You don’t even recognize the faces you came on, Batman?_

Bruce kind of wants to claw his eyes out. Apparently, he is not making any use of them anyway. He is not sure whom he hates more: himself, or Superman. Clark. Sweet, pretty reporter from Kansas who likes old movies and smells of soap and lavender shampoo.

How could he be so fucking blind?

 _Because you’ve got distracted by a great piece of ass,_ his subconscious suggests, helpful as usual. _Congratulations, detective._

“Penny for your thoughts, master Wayne?” Alfred asks from the other side of the cave.

“Not in the mood for talking.” Bruce is not ready yet to reveal what a failure he has become.

“What an unexpected turn of events.” Alfred deadpans under his breath. “It’s almost dawn. Will you require any further assistance?”

Bruce takes a look at his reflection in one of the screens. There is something wild in his glare: perfect addition to the bat suit he is still wearing.

_Should it be Batman confronting Superman?_

“No,” he says. “I’m going to Metropolis.”

“Ah. Is mister Kent awaiting you?”

Bruce clenches his jaw as he observes the red dot on his tablet. It has not moved in a long while.

_Stay in Gotham, Batman._

“No.” He pauses. “It’s a surprise.”

\---

“Bruce?” Clark looks at him with disbelief. “Hi! Come in!”

When Clark is happy, he looks like a child. Bruce’s heart drops to the floor when he sees that smile. The modest apartment feels safe and homely even though he have been here only once – recent revelations aside, this is the place where he had the best sleep in years.

“What are you doing here? At this hour?” The sleepy voice is colored with awe.

Bruce stays quiet. Clark looks so… human: just a fragile construction of flesh, blood and bone. He wears shabby pyjama pants and those absurd glasses. Nothing out of ordinary except for his outstanding beauty. Otherworldly. _Alien._

“Bruce, is everything alright?...” He asks with genuine care.

“Had to see you.” Bruce’s voice is about one degree warmer than ice. He kisses Clark forcefully and pins him against a wall.

He looks human and also tastes like one. His lips, his tongue, his skin – there is no difference between him and any other man Bruce has kissed in the past. What is strange is that his body is not just warm – it radiates with heat typical for someone suffering from a fever, except that Clark is life and health personified. 

 _Can he even get sick? If so, from what?_ Bruce wonders. He bites Clark’s neck right where his pulse is the strongest. There will be no bruises, of course, nor will his nails leave any scratches on the alien’s chest.

Bruce thinks about their first night and what came after. Was he surprised that Clark did not have any bruises from being beaten with a belt after only two weeks? Yes. _But some people just heal faster,_ he thought and proceeded to fuck him senseless. Anger rises its ugly snout deep inside Bruce’s chest. He bites down hard on Clark’s lips, desperate to draw blood as his right hand tightens on the intruder’s throat… 

“Bruce…” Clark breathes out, suddenly alarmed.

“Shut up” Bruce snarls. It takes just a couple of well-practiced moves to make Clark face the wall. “Just shut up and take it,” Bruce unzips his pants and touches his rapidly hardening cock.

“Wait…” Clark says meekly which only makes Bruce shove him harder to the wall.

God, he wants to hurt him, to rattle his bones and knock out his teeth, paint this gorgeous face with purple and blue, fuck him raw until he bleeds, cum all over his abused body, wreck him, humiliate him, expose to the whole world…

“Bruce, stop!” This time Clark actually makes an effort to free himself. Bruce clenches his teeth on the alien’s nape, keeping him in place, right where he wants him, where he can punish him for all the deaths and mayhem and _deceiving Batman…_

“I said stop!”

Before he can see it coming, Bruce hits the floor.

“What is wrong with you?!” Clark yells, confused as never before. “Have you lost your mind?”

Bruce gets up quickly. His vision goes white with rage as he throws a punch. Clark blocks it. Effortlessly. The same thing happens to each and every strike. After a while Clark simply catches both of Bruce’s wrists and holds them tight.

“What the hell, Bruce?!” He is mad, but underneath the anger there is a great hurt.

Finally Bruce can feel it: the invincible, sheer power of Superman. He have had enough fights in his life to recognize when he does not stand a chance. The sky blue eyes shine brightly, eclipsed only by a single dash of brown. Bruce lets out a short, awful laugh.

“I thought you like it rough.” He manages to tear himself away from Clark.

 “Don’t talk to me like I’m stupid,” Clark says, voice low. “Now, could you calm down and explain to me what the fuck is going on?”

Bruce wants to make him suffer so badly it _burns._ And yet he will not, he cannot, because he is weak, weak and spineless like a dandelion in the wind, just like he always was.

Despite his internal struggle, he takes a confident step forward. Clark lets him get closer and does not react when Bruce slowly raises his right hand. They stare at each other like wild wolves in tundra.

“I know what you are.” Bruce says through clenched teeth as he traces a shape with his index finger on the alien’s chest. The shape of the letter “s”.

It is almost satisfying, the way Clark’s face falls, crumbles into a million pieces like a broken mirror. Bruce swiftly makes himself more presentable and storms out, pale and shaking with fury.

\---

It is possibly the loneliest Sunday in Clark’s life.

He tries to convince himself that the early morning did not happen. That it was just a bad dream. It works for about ten minutes – the next moment everything comes back with a double force, nearly crushing him to the ground.  

Bruce hates Superman. Hates _him._

Clark thinks over and over again about all of the times when something could have gave him away. Comes up with absolutely nothing. If Bruce did notice any anomaly, would he not react immediately? Confront Clark about the odd behavior? Would he really act so sweetly if he believed Clark to be the person he hates so much?  

The guesses make him feel sick to the core. He looks for a distraction, but he cannot focus on anything that is on TV, cannot read without making a pause every five minutes, is not able to write anything coherent. He does not want to go out in fear that Bruce’s repulsion will reach him through someone else’s eyes.

Eventually, Clark settles on mindless surfing on the Internet. Looking at the stream of disconnected pictures and miscellaneous content feels a lot like dreaming. For now it is all the comfort he needs. But then he clicks on an article about Wayne Enterprises latest investment, and suddenly Bruce is smiling at him from the picture, and then it is the Turkish Airline commercial and scrolling through blogs and twitters and Clark is in too deep. God, all of Bruce’s (alleged) girlfriends were drop dead gorgeous. There is even a slideshow comparing their looks and how far they have got in the relationship with the billionaire. It hurts, but perhaps this is exactly what he needs to get over… this thing. Clark reads every single gossip piece and eats a tub of ice cream, feeling like a TV version of a person with a broken heart.  

He does not have much time to deal with it anyway, because what he really should think about is _what will Bruce Wayne do next._

The sleek, black smartphone is in the usual place beside his bed. Clark could swear he heard it calling a couple of times, but that was just his imagination. The night comes without a warning. He honestly have not noticed where did the day go.

Clark did not know that being lovesick could actually make his body ache. He just needs to keep this fantasy alive for a little longer, convince himself that everything will be alright one last time.

He uses the super hearing and oh, there it is, Bruce’s strong, clear heartbeat…

…a heartbeat of a man who is currently fighting for his life.

Clark has never moved this fast.

\---

What he gathers from a brief observation is that a drug deal at the Gotham docks has gone awry. A blackout occurred in the nearest area, so now at least three dozen armed men are running around in panic. Complete chaos.

Bruce’s heartbeat leads him to the biggest hangar. Clark almost goes berserk when the x-ray vision shows that Bruce is bleeding. He enters the building as a streak of red and blue, disarming five men and bringing them to the floor.

“Holy shit, it’s the Big Blue!” One of the thugs yelps loudly. The rest wastes no time and starts to run. Clark captures the men with ease and immobilizes them all with a mooring rope. Now he can finally have a look at Bruce…

…a tall, black figure moves like it became darkness itself a long time ago.

“No one wants you here.” The shadow has an artificial, raspy voice. “Get out.”

Clark is speechless, frozen, does not even dare to breathe as he listens to the strong, clear heartbeat that is more enticing than the bells of Notre Dame… that gives life to the creature of the night.

“I said get out!” His heavy cape floats behind him like a pair of black wings.

At this point, Clark really does not have to do this. Still, he takes a look at the masked man’s face and peeks to see who is hiding underneath.

_My god, you have no idea how beautiful you are, Bruce._

“You’re bleeding,” Clark’s mouth is dry.

“And you need to leave, alien,” Batman snarls. “This doesn’t concern you.”

The sound of police sirens blasts from the outside. Clark can hear a helicopter approaching as well. He gets as close to the Batman as the man in question will allow, looks him in the eye and simply whispers: “I know.”

There is no light, no light in those sad, brown eyes.

“GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!” Somehow Batman’s shout makes everything around him tremble.

Clark has no idea what else he could do. It is not the best time for Superman to be questioned about his sudden interest in Gotham’s drug dealership and Bruce… Bruce hates him more than ever.

He flies away, trying to stop the tears from falling.

\---

The next morning, Clark considers calling in sick for about half an hour before getting up. _Work will be a nice distraction,_ he thinks as he brushes his teeth.

“Clark! Here, have a donut,” Lois offers when he arrives at the office.

“Not hungry, thanks.” Clark slumps on his chair and pretends to be very busy. Naturally, Lois sees through his bullshit right away.

“So. Do you wanna talk about it?” She asks and leans against his desk.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Clark does not look up to meet her stare.

“I see.” Lois waits patiently. After a moment Clark sighs, defeated once again.

“I think things won’t work out with that girl,” he admits.

“Why is that?”

“She’s…” _a blood-thirsty, violent, fierce criminal,_ “…we’re from different worlds, I guess.”

“That’s terribly vague. Care to spill some details?”

_Oh my god, where do I fucking start._

“…She’s filthy rich.” Clark chuckles quietly as her eyes go wide.

“Lex Luthor rich?”

“Let’s say Bruce Wayne rich.”

“My, my, Smallville, who knew you had a taste for heiresses.”

“That’s the point: I don’t.”

“Well, please don’t give up on her yet.” Lois takes a look at her phone. “I would love to have a nice, wealthy gal pal who would fly me to Bahamas in a private jet.”

“What makes you think she’s nice?” Clark asks as she goes to her desk.

“You have a type! Let’s meet for lunch, alright?” Lois smirks and greets someone on the other side of the line. 

\---

It is almost noon. Clark begins to wonder what he would like to have for lunch when his phone buzzes. No, not his phone: _the_ phone. He honestly thought that he left it at home. The four horsemen of the Apocalypse could not stop him from reading the message.

_Meet me at the Presque Vu in an hour._

He almost wants to make a joke about what kind of dress code should he follow – nervousness often makes him act silly. 

“I’m sorry but I need to cancel our lunch, Lois,” he says before leaving. “I have an exclusive.”

\---

Presque Vu is a snobbish restaurant located on the top floor of one of the most prestigious skyscrapers in Metropolis. The view from here is breathtaking, so is the interior design of the place: if anything made from cheap plastic somehow ended up here, it would instantaneously start to melt, then disappear in a puff of smoke.

“Hello. My name is Clark Kent and I’m here to see uh… Bruce Wayne?” Clark stutters a little when he approaches the headwaiter. From where he stands, it looks like there are no free tables available.

“Oh yes, mister Wayne is already waiting for you! Follow me, please.” The headwaiter says with a pearly white smile.

No one spares a glance at the reporter making his way through the room. The restaurant is not as big as he thought, which speaks volumes about how exclusionary it really is. This is where the rich and powerful pay not only for the overpriced meals, but also for discretion. _How fitting,_ Clark thinks. His heart pounds loudly, but then skips a beat when he sees Bruce sitting by the window. Everything would be a lot easier if the man was not so goddamn perfect.

“Mister Kent,” he gets up and shakes Clark’s hand. “I’m glad you could join me.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, mister Wayne.” The handshake alone makes his body sparkle, _for fuck’s sake._  

Coffee is the only thing Bruce orders, so Clark does the same – his stomach is tied in knots anyway. He looks at the man on the other side of the table and makes a small show of readjusting his seat.

“Don’t give me the bat-glare in public,” Clark whispers when he gets a little closer. “It’s not very effective in daytime.”

A horrid smirk twists Bruce’s face.

“Since we’re already on the subject…” he says, “I want to know what’s your price.”

“My price?”

“For your silence.”

Clark is too stunned to speak for a moment. He gives Bruce a proper look over, glasses slightly slipped.

“First of all, I would appreciate it if you got rid of the communicator in your left ear.” He struggles to keep a casual tone of voice. “Very precise work by the way. I’m impressed.”

_I believe this is my cue to flee this conversation, master Wayne._

“No hard feelings, Alfred.” Clark says and smiles just to get a reaction out of Bruce. “It is Alfred, right?”

_The one and only, mister Kent. Master Wayne… please think before you act. Gentlemen..._

He disconnects, leaving Clark alone with a man who’s face is currently emotionless like the mask he wears at night.

“How much?” Bruce asks, eyes focused on Clark.

“You can’t buy my silence, just like I can’t buy yours.”

“I’m not a reporter. It’s not my job to sell news.”

“Oh no, you’re so much more.” Clark takes a deeper breath. “I propose a gentlemen’s agreement. You keep quiet, I don’t say a word.”

“Just like that?”

“We ain’t kids no more. You’ve said so yourself.”

“What I’ve said is that promises are pointless.” A flash of anger rises in Bruce’s eyes.

“Well, I couldn’t care less about your money, so what do you suggest?”

Their coffee arrives. When the waitress leaves, Clark takes a courteous sip.

“How did you find out?” Bruce asks. Calmly.

“I’ve learned your heartbeat.” His face goes a little pink. Yet there is really no point in lying. “I can hear it whenever I put my mind into it. But, quid pro quo Clarice: how did you find out?”

“There is a bug in your phone.”

“…To you privacy is just an empty concept, isn’t it?”

 “What are you?” Wayne asks out of the blue.

“Who.” Clark corrects, although he knows very well what was Bruce’s original intent. “ _Who_ am I. I am a farm boy from Kansas. I am someone who lost a father at a young age. I am a reporter working for the Daily Planet. I am… a man trying to do the right thing.” Another sip of coffee. “I also happen to be the guy who made you cum buckets and then fed you pancakes. It was pretty special.”

Bruce bites the inside of his cheek.

“Which leads us to another truism,” Clark continues. “I am not your enemy. Never was, never will be. I must admit that I’m not a fan of your night work, but I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. It’s because I know your heart is in the right place.”

“You don’t know shit about me,” Bruce spits out.

“Quite true. I was hoping I could get to know you better.”

“Here’s a little something to keep your interest.” Bruce put his hands on the table, voice dangerously low. “One of my buildings got burned to the ground during the incident in which you were involved. I can name every employee who died or got injured that day. Their faces haunt me.”

Clark says nothing. It feels like his insides became frozen. Painful memories come back to remind him every horrible detail of that day.

“I’m sorry,” he says in a broken voice after a few seconds of strained silence.

“You’re sorry” Bruce mocks. “That doesn’t change the fact that you’re a threat.”

“Do you think I don’t regret this?” Clark tries hard not to raise his voice. “I swear, I didn’t know they were going to attack. When I’ve realized what was happening, it was already too late. So I did everything I possibly could to stop them from destroying Earth. And don’t… don’t even think for a second that I don’t care about the people who lost their lives. They haunt me, too. This is what keeps me going. I haven’t resigned yet because there’s always someone who needs help. Now, of course I can’t help everyone, but I will sure as hell try to do so. Call this seeking for absolution, sure, why not. To me it’s acting like a decent human being.”

The soothing music and the chatter of the guests make a pretty good cover up for the loaded silence between them. It is Clark who breaks it first.

“By the way – you’re calling _me_ a threat? That’s rich coming from a guy of your…methods.”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Oh, it is now. You weren’t always this violent, were you? What was it that broke you?”

Bruce’s upper lip twitches, but his stare is as hard as a stone.

“The lack of sense.”

 “But there is sense in what you do, even I know this to be true.”

“And yet there’s no change. Not everyone has godlike powers.”

“You’ve fucked a god multiple times now. You’re telling me that didn’t give you any kind of powers?”

Bruce closes his eyes. Clark does not need any special vision to notice a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. Hope spreads its wings in Clark’s soul.

“We should work together” he says without thinking.

“What?”

“Think what we could do.  When we’re separate, our possibilities are limited, one way or another. But together… We want the same thing, Bruce. Think about it.”

For a second Clark is pretty sure that Bruce will jump out of the window.

“I work alone.”

“I am hurt on Alfred’s behalf.”

“That’s not…” Bruce sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Do you really hate me that much?” Clark was afraid to ask this question, but he simply has to know.

To his horror, Bruce stays quiet for a very long time.

“I want to,” he finally replies, “but I’m so tired of hatred.”

“So… truce?”

“Truce.”

Time does not stop. The world keeps turning. The busy restaurant comes to life thanks to the laughing guests. Two men sit on the opposite sides of the table. Their silence is oddly comforting.

“I have to go back to the office or my boss will put my head on a stick,” Clark says after checking the watch.

“Yeah, I guess I’ll go with you,” Bruce says and looks for their waitress.

They ride the elevator with a group of lawyers. Clark tentatively reaches for Bruce’s hand, not daring to look at him. To his delight, their pinkies lace up for a moment.

That moment is all Clark needs to feel hopeful again.

**Author's Note:**

> Wasn't that bad, huh?  
> An epilogue is coming!


End file.
